Solemnly yours, Messrs well, you know
by c. sherwood
Summary: A Marauders letterwriting fic randomnly set from 1st year to the death of the Potters. No main plot line, but that's half the fun.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Solemnly yours, Messrs. . .well, you know worst title ever. my apologies

Date: May 25, 2006

A/N: I finally got around to starting another Marauders humor fic. It was destined and already in the works. This one has no viable plot line, though, it's merely a collection of letters. It's written similar to the way I write I Solemnly Swear but once again, no plot line. I just skip around during different time periods, from first year to before the Potter's death. See how you like it. Read. Review.

**Chapter One: Summer 1977 **

Dear Prongs,

How is your first summer of bondage to Lily Evans? We are ashamed, Wormtail and I. Moony thinks it is nice, something out of one of his books, sentimental bloke that he is. It's sickening.

I am doing fine on my own, all alone, with not one visit from my best mate to cheer me up. All I have is Moony who comes every once in a while to drop off baked goods made by his concerned mother, so at least I don't starve. Otherwise I am alone and haven't even be able to strike up a conversation with the old man who lives on the floor beneath mine. He's a bloody good piano player. He keeps me up all night with his concertos and his dead composers. I think that I should learn to play an instrument or get a hobby so I can have something to keep me busy while I grow _old and miserable and lonely._

And when I am old and miserable and lonely, I will sit with my saxophone or my harmonica or whatever it is old and miserable and lonely people play and say to myself, "Why, this old and miserable and lonely state that I'm in is all due to that git James Potter and that redhead, whats-her-name, Rose. Or Tulip."

Of course, Moony will be beside me with his large books and his bad eyes from too many years of reading and will be mumbling incoherently about poetry and dead philosophers.

Well, he does that already, but all the same.

Seven years of education have done nothing for me, Prongs, I can't even decide on a job. I just sit here on the floor of my flat staring at the Beatles poster on the wall and trying to figure out how Ringo's nose got that big and whether it weighs his head down. That is what my life has been reduced to.

(and it's all thank to you)

-Padfoot

My most esteemed Mr. Padfoot,

Prongs tells me that you have been harassing him to visit you again. What have I told you about sending rants to your friends? It is most unbecoming of you. Do I have to take away the baked goods again? How would you live on? I imagine you would be swooning from hunger before the day was out, and we all know that you say swooning should be left to Scarlett O'Hara and me when I get excited about things nobody understands nor wants to understand.

(and by the by, I am still offended by that remark. Do you wonder why people don't come visit you? It's probably because you've insulted them so much that they have just given up. This is something I should have done long, long ago. . .probably first year, but, thankfully for you, I didn't.)

I have a solution to your obviously dire problem. Go visit THEM.

I am a very patient person, Padfoot, which is why I haven't killed you three yet, but I won't stand for you feeling sorry for yourself. So stand up. Yes, right now. I said stand up. Good. Now put on some decent clothes, go find a job, and get a girlfriend. That's what I said, yes, yes, you heard me correctly. I can see the exasperated look on your face right now.

I'll be waiting to hear your excited and grateful thank you's soon.

-Moony

My most FORCEFUL Mr. Moony,

I would just like you to know that I am sitting in exactly the same place that I was at the moment I recieved your letter. That was two days ago. HA! What do you think of that?

-Padfoot

Padfoot,

I think that's pathetic. What do you think of it?

-Moony

Moony,

I agree with you. I'm standing up now. Expect my thank you's very soon, I have the Daily Prophet in my hands with the want ad's open. I could possibly have a career as a professional lawnmower and there is a small brunette looking for an intelligent man who likes Shakespeare and long walks to and from the library. I think I have found your soul mate. You can have little genius children who randomnly quote obscure poets and look very disapproving when their friends what to live out their life in contempt and misery.

Thank you, Moony. Thank you and thank you again. Are you happy? I'm finally going to become a productive member of society. Professors will not be able to believe their ears. My mother will drop dead (ha, ha, one can only hope) from the mere shock of it.

-Padfoot

Padfoot,

Moony got you out of your slump? He is a miracle worker! A medical marvel.

Lily is skeptical that you'll be able to find a job, especially as a professional lawnmower in downtown London, but I have faith in you. Let's prove her wrong.

I'm going to come visit you today. Are you overjoyed? Are you writhing with pleasure and anticipation?

-Prongs

Prongs,

Hmph. You visit now, when I need you the least? You are a heartless fiend. Evans is rubbing off on you.

I won't be at home today.

So there.

(if you're bringing me a present, leave it with the old man downstairs. He's teaching me to play the piano!)

-Padfoot


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I got offered a cookie to update so I couldn't refuse. Glad you guys like it. I think this is set 3rd year, before they were animagi and had all the nicknames and whatnot. Also, I figured the lines between the letters would make it easier to read.

Christmas Hols 1973

Dear Remus,

The full moon was last night, wasn't it? You must be in dire need of Christmas merriment and I believe that we are the three men to give it to you. Do you know what you have to do, though? Do you? Do you? Isn't it amazing how I can still be annoying when when you can't hear me speak? I can see the line in your forehead sharpening right now.

You probably got this letter in the middle of reading something that weighs more than you do and might as well be in a different language because I bloody well won't able to understand it. Then you'll be angry with me for a whole of two minutes before you remember my fond smile and are at peace with the very memory of it once again.

Right, back to what I was stating before. Do you know what you have to do to be part of our merry-making?

Dooooooo you?

You have to come back for the rest of the Christmas holiday and stay with us. The Gryffindor common room is empty except for me and James and Peter and Frank Longbottom and we need you here, Remus, we are ever so lonesome without you. Who else will keep us from catching things on fire? Why, to date I have sent my bed curtains, two owls that did not belong to me, and James's hair into flames since I left your sensible gaze.

Tell your parents that we will die if you don't come. Tell them that Hogwarts will be nothing but a heap of charred stone because we have wands and don't quite know how to use them correctly. Tell them that we all miss you terribly and surely they can spare you for the last few days? Aren't they sick of you yet? Come on.

Beg for us!

-Sirius

* * *

Dear Remus,

Sirius said you didn't reply to his letter yet so I'm supposed to continuously harrass you with extremely irritating letters until you do reply. So, bearing that in mind, I will now sing and dictate several verses of I've Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts. Don't you love us so?

Down at an English fair,  
One evening I was there,  
When I heard a showman shouting  
Underneath the flare:  
Hoi've got a lo-ve-ly bunch o' coconuts.  
There they are a-standin' in a row.  
Big ones, small ones, some as large as yer 'ead!  
Give 'em a twist, a flick o' the wrist,  
That's what the showman said.  
Hoi've got a lo-ve-ly bunch o' coconuts.  
Hevery ball yer throw will make me rich.  
There stands me wife, the idol of me life,  
Singin' roll a-bowl a ball, a penny a pitch!

Ha, Ha, take that! Have you passed out from annoyance? Is that vein throbbing in your neck yet? Will you ever get that song out of your head? I-don't-think-so. Reply soon or I will quote Monty Python until you want to jump off of something very tall.

-James

* * *

Dear Sirius (and James, probably reading over his shoulder in a most _annoying_ fashion),

Did you ever consider the fact that I had not yet replied to your letters because I have been basically unconscious for the past two days? I suppose not. As much as I would like to come back to have you lot serenade me and all that, my parents politely decline your requests. It's a Lupin family tradition that all family members must be present on Christmas, except for death or serious illness.

I know what you're thinking and no, they don't mean a Sirius illness, Sirius.

Don't worry that you won't get your presents because I sent them by owl today and no, they are not books and yes, you can eat them. I'm not getting anything dark and evil in the mail because I can't come, am I? Oh, dear. I should look behind me when I walk down corridors, shouldn't I? That's what I thought. I can imagine your malicious grins and they will keep me until we see each other again.

In all respect,

Remus

* * *

REMUS,

TELL YOUR PARENTS THAT THEY WOULD GET USED TO NOT HAVING YOU AROUND BECAUSE YOU BARELY TALK ANYWAY, ALL YOU DO IS READ AND LOOK DISAPPROVING. LOOK BEHIND YOU AND WOE! WOE!

-Sirius, James, and Peter


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Now for some note passing, which I think might as well fall in the same category as letter writing. . .anyway, let's say 4th year for good measure. Time is of absolutely no relevance. This one's a bit short, but I just found this in the back of my notebook so I got excited.

**thrown at Prongs's left eyes during Potions, unsuccessfully**

Padfoot: Still fuming, mate?

Prongs: She picked Snape.

Padfoot: So you've said. Twelve million times.

Prongs: Evans could have had me as her Potions partner. . .or Snape. . .me. . .Snape. . .which sounds better? Which looks better? Which is obviously not a greasy snake of a Slytherin? Me!

Padfoot: Do you want to know _my_ theory, Prongsie lad?

Prongs: Why not? It will give me something to think about other than my impending DOOM.

Padfoot: I think that Snivellus and Evans have been having a mad closet love affair and this is one of their steps to making it public. I like it. It's very Romeo and Juliet.

Prongs: . . .how was that supposed to comfort me in my time of need?

Padfoot: I never said anything about comforting you, but now that you mention it, that would mean that she didn't not pick you because she hates you with every ounce of your being. It means that she didn't pick you because she loves Snivellus! Genius, right?

Prongs: **_sniff_**. I hate you, Sirius Black. I'm ignoring you now. You don't exist.

**tossed over Prongs's shoulder into Moony's empty cauldron**

Prongs: Comfort me, Moony.

Moony: I'm trying not to blow up the dungeons, thanks.

Prongs: There are more important things going on than your ineptitude at Potions!

Moony: The woes and pangs of unrequited love?

Prongs: Oh, how they pain me.

Moony: We've given you this speech at least 20 times. In the past week.

Prongs: I need it one more time. Pleeeeeeeaaaaaassssseeeee?

Moony: You've been taking pleading lessons from Padfoot, I see. I suppose he taught you that drawing out your words until they break all possible functioning rules of grammar makes me give in easier, right?

Prongs: Noooooooooo.

Moony: Ask Wormtail to give it. He's memorized it just as well as I have.

Prongs: but your delivery of it is so much more eloquent. And notice I didn't say eloquenter. Does that help my case at all?

Moony: Not really.

Prongs: Fine! Fine! You and Padfoot are no help! You want me to die, don't you? Don't you?

Moony: Yes. Yes, we do, Prongs.

Prongs: I KNEW IT.

**chucked viciously at the back of Wormtail's head, onto the floor, then wingardium leviosa'd into his pocket**

Prongs: Comfort me, Wormtail! You're the only one I have left!

Wormtail: The speech _again?_

Prongs: Please.

Wormtail: oh, all right. Prongs, you are a strong Gryffindor male and with that comes the ideals of a strong Gryffindor male which do not include stalking girls no matter how much you claim it's for the sake of science and crying like a child when said girl turns you down. Lily Evans does not realize the beauty in you, like we have. You shouldn't become suicidal because she doesn't instantly fall in love with you. We love you, Prongs, and we do not want you to throw yourself off of the Astronomy tower and into the lake.

Prongs: Thank you, Wormtail. You're my only friend now.

Wormtail: I suppose that's all right.

Prongs: . . .and it was for the sake of science. . .

Wormtail: Now I have to say it again! Prongs, you are a strong Gryffindor male and with that comes the ideals of a strong Gryffindor male. . . . .


End file.
